


Underestimation

by Castastrophe



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, BAMF!Q, Humor, M/M, Q is underestimated, Q needs a spray bottle, but you know it's there, the 00q is kinda implied, the 00s are like annoying cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:44:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7980376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castastrophe/pseuds/Castastrophe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a tumblr post: A fic where everyone is driving Q up the wall and he’s getting really angry and nobody takes him seriously because, come on, he’s just a kid, and he just kinda snaps??<br/>Like someone goes too far and suddenly he’s pointing a gun in their face while still coding with the other hand in front of all minions and telling this guy intricate details of how he’d rip his perky little balls off and decorate the lab Christmas tree with his intestines if he doesn’t back up and shut up.<br/>Bonus points if Q actually shoots or stabs someone in the arm afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underestimation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Slenderlof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slenderlof/gifts).



> So I needed to write this. It was too good of an idea. It's not QUITE what was on the label, but I like to think it comes sorta close.

The agents have a spectacularly annoying habit of loitering around Q branch like a collective bad smell. 006 likes to chat up R, or the closest he can achieve whilst she steadfastly ignores him and makes mental notes on how to upgrade the lock system designed to keep trespassers out of the branch itself. 009 spends too much time lingering around R&D, his eyes wide and full of mischievous intent whilst he asks far too many questions and distracts the engineers to the point of minor mishaps at  _ least _ weekly. 004 hovers for the glory, basks in the attention that half of the branch frequently give her as she rattles off details a little too classified to be shared so freely, disregarding any statement reminding her of the confidentiality part of being a spy. 002 plays consistent, mostly harmless pranks, and more often than not, her presence is only realised by her laughter post-incident as it ricochets off the walls. 007… Well, Q isn’t sure what it is, exactly, that 007 does, but it irritates him to no end, something Bond is  _ very _ much aware of. 

 

Most of the time, Bond is just  _ there _ , and that is more than enough of a hindrance.

 

Q sighs, carefully setting down his soldering iron and pressing his glasses back up his nose, from where they’ve slid across sweat coated skin.

“Do you  _ mind _ , 007?” He asks, too fatigued to entirely mask his irritation, and finally drags his gaze to meet the agent’s. Bond takes another obnoxiously loud bite of his apple, legs still crossed over each other as he leans against Q’s desk and stares wordlessly down at him. A carefree smile steals across the agent’s features, and perhaps it would be charming if Q wasn’t contemplating just how  _ much _ trouble he would get into for ramming his still searing iron up Bond’s nostrils. “This is quite a delicate task. You’ve had your debriefing. I’d expect a double oh would have better use of his time than harassing Q branch.”

“Oh, I assure you, quartermaster, I am exactly where I want to be,” Bond muses, eyes playful, but Q doesn’t have the patience. 

“Well you’re not where  _ I _ want you to be,” he snaps, before turning back to his soldering iron. “Remedy that, will you?” 

Bond chuckles, but he must be in an amicable mood, because he actually leaves, a long sigh leaving Q’s lips the moment he disappears, tension bleeding from his shoulders as he returns to his work. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Thank you, Q,” Mallory offers, as he shuffles the papers on his desk after their meeting. “Was there anything else?” 

“Theoretically, sir,” Q begins slowly, and Mallory cocks a brow. Q never asks questions, eager to return to his desk after meetings, so Q can’t blame the man’s curiosity. “If the double ohs were to cause, in my professional opinion, a distracting environment in my branch, how much force would be appropriate in order to have them leave?” 

Mallory bites back a surprised huff of laughter, but only just. 

“As much force as necessary,” Mallory muses, “but you are more than welcome to utilise security for that. I’m not sure how much of a challenge they would provide an agent, but it would at least prevent you the injury.”

 

Q ignores the barb, selective hearing engaging as swiftly as he can manage. 

“As much force as necessary?” he repeats, and Mallory’s smile widens. 

“Short of death, yes.”

“I’ll take your word for that, sir.” 

Q isn’t surprised to find that Mallory doesn’t seem concerned at all. 

 

He’s too often underestimated, and this may just play in his favour. 

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a quiet period in the world of espionage; brilliant for Her Majesty, torturous for Q branch. It’s almost impossible to turn without running into an agent, and Q has spent the better part of the afternoon making various threats, all of which have been subsequently ignored. As he scours over the quarterly budgeting for the branch and sees the numbers shrinking as he matches them to mission reports and briefs, he can feel his patience shrinking with it. 

“Ah, our illustrious quartermaster,” 006 drawls as he parks his arse on the edge of Q’s desk and picks up one of Q’s paperweights - a souvenir sword that Eve brought back from her honeymoon as a gift - fiddling with it and turning it this way and that within his hands. “You know, we’re all terribly bored, and your department hasn’t even had the foresight to provide us with new toys for our entertainment.”

“That is decidedly  _ not _ my problem, Trevalyn,” Q replies tightly, “and you’d do well to not play with things that aren’t yours regardless”

Q pointedly shifts his gaze to the paperweight, and Alec grins, twirling it in his fingers. 

“This is a  _ nice _ paperweight,” he muses, and Q swallows back on the blinding rage consuming him. 

 

“Put it down, 006.” 

 

There’s more weight in his tone than in the object itself, but Alec, fool that he is, disregards it entirely. 

“How come Eve gets you presents? I’ve been trying to win her over for  _ years _ .”

“Perhaps because I show her a semblance of respect. Put it  _ down _ , Alec.”

006, not used to Q using his given name, raises a brow in amusement and only grins wider, fingers still curled around his -  _ Q’s _ \- paperweight. 

“My, we do have a little bark today, don’t we, Q? I think I like you feisty,” 006 teases, still twirling, and Q reaches into his desk with a quick and fluid movement, drawing out his modified Walther and aiming it at Alec’s chest. 

 

The agent, to his credit, does little more than make a small sound of surprise, but it is enough to draw the attention of 007, who is watching on with a curious gaze, equal parts intrigued and mildly concerned. 

  
  


“Well, perhaps bark is an understatement,” Alec drawls, still clearly at ease. “Put that down before you hurt yourself, Q.”   
“My files are locked down tighter than the Bank of England itself, so I can understand some level of your underestimation of me, 006, but I would warn you that I have experiences under my belt that would rival some of your own,” Q offers calmly, most of the branch watching now with a mix of concern, amusement, and outright anticipation. “So I ask you one last time, put. it.  _ down _ .”

Alec turns to Bond, shit-eating grin on his face, and barely has the time to snort and say “Are you hearing this, James?” before the sword is tumbling from his hands and clattering to the floor, the agent jolted back with fifty thousand volts of electricity, Q’s tazer charge hitting its mark square on.

 

Q pulls the used clip from his gun and sets it on his desk, calmly standing and straightening his cardigan before he moves to 006’s side, the other man letting out a groan as Q stoops and scoops up his sword. He returns to his seat and sets the paperweight down, straightening it before he finally looks up and casts a gaze around and the various gaping expressions of his coworkers. 

“What? It’s not like I actually  _ shot _ him,” Q sniffs, allowing a small smile to flash across his lips. “Although I imagine it came as quite of a  _ shock _ regardless.”

He snorts at his own joke, especially loud in the still silent surrounds as 002 tentatively makes her way to 006’s side and kneels down to assist him, seemingly caught between amusement and a very apparent newfound respect for her handler.

 

Perhaps, he thinks, things may be a little different around Q branch from now on. 

 

As he meets Bond’s gaze, the agent’s eyes dark and viewing him in a decidedly new and apparently very-much-intrigued light, he feels his pulse quicken just a little, and he wonders how true that may be in more ways than one.

  
  



End file.
